Of Duty, Family, and Love
by NightFayestorm
Summary: Arleigh Cousland places duty before her own happiness, knowing that Alistair must produce an heir as soon as possible. Along the way they pick up a mage and her Templar keeper who are not all that they seem. F!Cousland/Alistair, OC!F!Mage/Cullen
1. Ostagar

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><p>A clear dawn breaks over Ostagar as the Lady Cousland, her hound Chester, and her savior Duncan wearily approach the camp. She holds her chin high despite all she's faced in recent days, vowing to do her duty regardless of her feelings on the matter.<p>

The King is, simply put, ecstatic to see her and simultaneously mournful at receiving the news of her family's death. Loghain spares nothing but hatred for her, not that this is anything new. He never appreciated the popularity the little "Cousland spitfire" gained as being a noblewoman with well-known battle prowess; especially when his own daughter, the _Queen_, was known for cowering from the blade and bow.

The General watches with dark eyes as the King leads the young lady aside and speaks to her in hushed tones, tracing his hand down her arm in a too-familiar way. Yes, he's heard the rumors same as everyone else, but he'd hoped they were simply that—_rumors_. It would appear though that the King did indeed have eyes for someone other than his own Queen.

Giving a polite curtsey to her King and Warden-Commander, the Lady Cousland slips away to attend to personal matters, leaving her hound under the watch of the old Warden. The General wishes to smack the goofy grin off the King's face, but to do so in front of the army would be unwise. The Warden-Commander casually observes the emotional undercurrent before bidding goodbye to seek out the Warden encampment.

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><p>The Lady Cousland's presence at Ostagar is highly spoken of and she garners looks from nearly everyone she passes. Well, everyone except for the one person she is seeking out, however. After he finishes antagonizing the mage, his demonstrates his apparent lack of intelligence by then asking if she herself is also a mage. As if <em>any<em> well-bred noblewoman could be mistaken for a _mage_.

She's not sure if it's his obvious stupidity, his hair, or the definition of the his chin that tips her off. But she knows something about this young man, a scant few years younger than Cailan himself.

She storms to the King's tent with purpose the first chance she gets. The guard at the front tries to stop her so she tersely says, "I am the Lady Cousland, you _will_ let me pass."

A familiar voice calls out from within, "It's alright, Rupert, let her in."

She quickly brushes the tent flap aside and practically smashes her face into the golden cuirass of the King.

"Now, Arleigh, what has got you worked into such a tizzy?" he says calmly, carefully taking her hands in his.

She lets out a big breath to blow a stray lock of auburn hair out of her eyes before fixing them on his. "Why didn't you tell me you had a brother?"

Cailan only showed his shock at her knowledge by a slight release of his grip on her hands and a miniscule widening of the eyes. "Did Alistair tell you himself?"

"I've spent enough time around you and your father that I can easily spot your kin, Cailan."

He exhales and pulls away to pace the room. "I suppose we do look rather alike."

"Why is his existence a secret?"

"My father merely had a…dalliance with a serving girl, which resulted in my brother."

"Yes, I've heard of your father's indiscretions. I'm honestly surprised he only had the one bastard."

"That I know of, anyway. I only learned of Alistair because Eamon insisted on looking after him. If my father had his way, no-one would have even known of his birth."

"Does he know?"

"Yes, he's always known."

"And he had no problem with being sidelined as a regular citizen?"

"It is my understanding that Eamon took great care to instruct him that he is not in line for the crown, ever since he was a child. He seems happy enough as a Grey Warden, at least much happier than he was as a Templar."

"Your father let him become a Templar?"

"Isolde put him in the Chantry to stop the rumors that he was Eamon's son. She holds that arling with a death grip and is so insistent upon Connor taking power when the time comes. If anyone else took it, she wouldn't be able to pull the strings any longer. Anyway, Duncan was quite impressed with Alistair's battle skill, and I may have…encouraged him to take him into the Wardens. I couldn't let him be enslaved to lyrium with the rest of them."

"A wise course of action. But Cailan, has it ever occurred to you, Alistair, or Eamon that you and he are the last remaining Theirins and _you_ have no heirs _and_ we are on the eve of a Blight in which you could very easily perish?"

"What are you getting at?"

"I think it wise for the stability of the nation that you announce the existence of Alistair, officially put him in line for the throne, in case something should happen to you before you produce an heir."

"My dear," he steps over to take her hands again, pulling her close to him, "once you become my wife, I don't think it will be long before I produce an heir," he says suggestively, leaning down to kiss her.

She turns her head aside at the last second, taking a moment to say softly, "Even so, I still think it would be prudent to acknowledge Alistair's lineage."

Cailan sighs at her stalling. "Yes, I suppose you are right. Once we get back to Denerim, I will make the preparations. Of course we'll need to discuss this with Alistair as well, although I doubt he'll like it much."

"It doesn't matter if he likes it, it's his _duty_."

He leans down to kiss her again, working his lips along her jaw to her neck while his fingers stray to the laces on her bodice.

"Cailan, we shouldn't, not until your marriage to Anora is annulled."

He sighs, resting his forehead against hers. "Of course, you were always the wise one. At least give me a kiss." He presses his lips to hers expectantly, seeking entrance which she hesitantly gives. His warmth envelopes her as his grip about her tightens until she squeaks from being pressed against his armor. "Sorry, I forget how much armor gets in the way." He gives her a light kiss on the check. "You'd best get some rest before heading out to the Wilds. Be safe, my love."

She gives him a weak smile as she exits the tent, giving a sigh of relief at having again dodged being taken to his bed. It may be her duty to marry him, but until they are wed she need not behave as his wife.


	2. The Last Two

**Disclaimer: Bioware owns them, I just play in the sandbox.**

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><p>He cracks an eye open slowly to take in his surroundings. He startles at the realization that he's in his <em>smallclothes<em> in a _strange bed_ with no memory of how he got here. He vaguely makes out the figure of a haggard old woman on the other side of the room, leaning over a steaming basin. He opens his mouth to speak, but his throat is so sore that he only croaks. The grey figure turns partway before walking over with a towel, clicking her tongue. She wipes his face roughly, taking away the sweat gathering around his eyes, before handing him a cup of water.

He greedily gulps down the water, not questioning his keeper, until his eyes come into clearer focus. He visibly jolts in the bed as he pulls the coverlet up over his bare chest. "Fl-Flemeth!" he manages, only to receive a laugh in return.

"That's right boy." She laughs again, a chuckle deepening in her chest. "You should be happy I happened to be nearby."

"Be…nearby?" he winces, trying to piece together what happened.

"You and the other Grey Warden, I found you being mauled by darkspawn atop the Tower. Seemed no-one would come to your rescue, the general having quit the field after all, so I felt it my duty to save your Warden lives."

"Wait, what? The-the general?"

"Yes, the one who was leading the King's armies. He retreated just after your signal fire lit. Your King…has died, killed by darkspawn. I'm afraid the plan of ending the Blight here has failed."

"What about the archdemon? Did it appear?"

"Now, I'm no expert on darkspawn, but I did not see anything resembling a dragon anywhere in the battle. It seems this was merely a preamble to things to come."

"Rescue us, how did you _rescue_ us? We were easily six stories up!"

"You forget I am a mage, young man. I merely flew there and plucked you out of the Tower, one in each talon."

"Talon? Then you-you were a bird?"

Flemeth laughs again and turns away. "You had best get dressed, lest Morrigan come in to bathe you again, thinking you are unable to care for yourself."

"A-again?" he stammers as she leaves the small room.

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><p>As Arleigh lies in Flemeth's hut digesting the news Morrigan brought her, she's not sure whether she's more outraged at Loghain's betrayal, distraught at her King's death, or relieved that she is free of her burden to marry at the death of her intended. Thoughts of the last one cause a pang of guilt, however, that motivate her to climb from lumpy bed to clear her mind.<p>

The fresh air and the appearance of a face disconcertingly similar to Cailan's do little to appease her nerves.

Alistair's attention is riveted at the sound of the door creaking open, the small, battered body stepping out in a flowing tunic belted over a skirt (her armor was destroyed beyond repair in the battle for the Tower of Ishal, and obviously two _mages _don't keep armor around). The neckline sits wide on her shoulders, baring her collarbones. Her hands twist seemingly endlessly in the long sleeves while she stretches her tired muscles. Her dark auburn hair is pulled into a hasty bun low on her head, a few stray pieces caught by the breeze floating around her face.

He stands stunned by the sudden appearance of her beauty, his mouth slightly agape, watching closely as she slowly blinks into the sun.

She turns towards him and faintly smiles. "Hello."

_Hello. I can't believe you're still here…I was so worried and I…_ "Thank the Maker you are alive," he manages. He fights the urge to rush over and throw his arms around her slight frame, with curves in just the right spots. _Not the time to think about that. _He composes himself. "Everyone died at Ostagar. Cailan, Duncan…Loghain's army retreated after we lit the beacon."

"I know; Morrigan told me. I can't _believe_ this, a Teyrn essentially making himself _King_! I wonder how long he's planned this."

"_Planned?_ Surely you don't mean Loghain went into this battle with the intention of leaving Cailan to _die!_"

"Loghain never respected Cailan or his rule, he merely put up with it so his daughter would remain on the throne. He had to know that _that_ was due to change though, what with Anora being obviously barren."

"Cailan was going to annul his marriage to Anora?"

Arleigh's cheeks flush as she quickly looks away. "The nation was demanding an heir, one that Anora apparently could not provide, despite several years of marriage. But what matters now is removing that traitor from power and stopping the Blight. I have a plan..."


	3. A Proposition

**Disclaimer: Bioware owns them, I just play in the sandbox.**

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><p>They venture out of the Korcari Wilds within a few days and cross farmland sprawling around the small village of Lothering. It is here that Arleigh's propensity to collect strays begins to develop. They leave the town with Sten, a rather stoic, large, vaguely scary Qunari, and Leliana, who is decidedly <em>not large<em> nor stoic, but still vaguely scary, albeit in a completely different way. On the way out of town they rescue two dwarves from darkspawn, who end up catching up to them when they make camp for the night, attaching themselves to the retinue. And then Arleigh's dog, Chester, makes a miraculous reappearance a scant day later.

Alistair just shakes his head at the odd collection of companions accumulated around the campfire. It's his turn to make dinner tonight (boy, Leliana and Sten do not know what they are in for), so he's too preoccupied to notice Arleigh quietly convening with the hedge witch in her small private camp.

"Morrigan, are you sure?" Arleigh questions anxiously.

"I am no healer, but I am certain, yes. The Taint is affecting your womb."

"You think I'll be barren?"

Morrigan sighs. "Truly, you wanted children?"

"You didn't answer my question."

The witch sighs again. "Yes, I am reasonably sure that you will be rendered barren within a matter of months."

Arleigh lets out a shaky sigh as her hands rake down her face. "I'd always thought... I have a responsibility, Morrigan. Especially now that my brother is likely dead. One of Ferelden's oldest noble families cannot simply die off like this."

"So you seek to become pregnant in the midst of a Blight?"

"What choice do I have?"

"And who, pray tell, would be the father?"

Arleigh gives her a stern look. "It's not like I have many options here."

"You would bed that _fool_ and bear his child?"

"There are larger things at play, things much larger than I or that...idiot. Look, this isn't my first choice. But...well I don't see how I really _have_ a choice."

"There is always the Qunari."

"I-I don't even want to _think_ about what that would be like. But no, it _has_ to be Alistair."

"If that is your wish."

"What I wish for is to be safe in Highever with my family still alive! But sometimes shit rains down on our lives and we have to do what we must for the future of the nation." She sighs. "How viable do you think the pregnancy will be after I am fully infected by the Taint?"

"That I have no way of knowing, having no experience with tainted pregnant women."

"We need a healer."

"I would agree, my skills are far more suited for...killing our enemies and fools."

"Just don't kill Alistair. He's more needed than you realize."

"I'll try to hold back."

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><p>The mid of night has descended and all slumber except Alistair, who lucked out with taking the midwatch tonight. He grumbles to himself as he pulls his cloak tighter about himself. Each of the companions are wrapped up tightly in their bedrolls under the stars, as no tents were available in Lothering. The apostate has sulked off by herself at the edge of camp, but he keeps half-expecting her to unleash some horrible spell on them in the middle of the night. Instead she sleeps peacefully. He looks over at Leliana, mumbling in her sleep as she lightly tosses and turns. Once or twice he thinks he can make out words or names…but then he thinks she's speaking in Orlesian so he must not know what she's saying after all.<p>

Finally his gaze falls upon Arleigh, sleeping on her side atop a stiff bedroll, her arm draped over Chester. He watches as her foot kicks predictably, once every few seconds, and wonders what she could possibly be dreaming about. He remembers those first nights after his Joining, the horrible, horrible nightmares. He swears he had one where he was actually being _devoured_ by the Archdemon, slowly digested whole, only to come out as a mindless darkspawn.

He realizes there are a lot of things he has yet to tell her about being a Grey Warden. _Tomorrow_, he vows, _I should just let her rest tonight. It's been a long journey, and it's only getting longer._ He jolts to attention when she yells in her sleep. Chester is awake and rattled, running around his mistress in circles, and she is flailing her arms around, yelling indecipherable words. He rises immediately and kneels beside her, grabbing her arms gently to calm her down. She startles awake at his touch and swings a punch right at his jaw. Alistair's reflexes are quick and he catches her fist before pushing her firmly down onto the bedroll.

She looks at him with wild eyes, barely recognizing him. "What? What's going on?"

"You were having a nightmare."

"I saw a dragon."

"Yes, I had them too, after my Joining. The Archdemon 'talks' to the horde, and we can hear it, even when we sleep."

She sighs and thumps her head back down onto her bedroll and they both become acutely aware of how his hands are pushing into her arms, carefully restraining her, while he hovers above her chest. He realizes he's beginning to stare at her heaving breast, the curve of flesh just falling out the top of her tunic in an intoxicating manner. She catches his eyes briefly and bites her lip to hide a wicked smile while he extricates himself from the situation, coughing nervously.

After watching him blush furiously across the fire from her (he decided to get as much distance as is reasonably possible to hide his embarrassment), she stands and makes her way over to him.

"Since we're both up, there's something I need to talk to you about."

He swallows heavily, as those words can never be a preamble to anything good.

"Alistair, I know that...we don't exactly know each other well, but I don't think we're left with much of a choice in this situation. You need an heir, and as quickly as possible, as do I. Either of us could die at any time and..."

"Arleigh, what are you on about?"

"Due to the Taint, I will be barren in a matter of months."

He looks away guiltily. "Yes, I...should have told you earlier, but..."

"It's not important, Alistair. The point is you need to get me pregnant. The fate of our nation depends on your having an heir."

"Andraste's flaming sword, Arleigh, what are you talking about?"

"Alistair, I know you are Maric's son."

His eyes widen in shock and his mouth opens and closes like a fish a few times before he can finally stutter out, "H-h-how?"

"I spoke with Cailan."

"Why would he tell you anything?"

She looks down at her feet, wishing she could avoid this whole line of conversation. "We were close, Alistair."

"Just _how_ close, exactly? I heard the rumors along with everyone else at the King's camp."

"That's none of your business, Alistair!"

"Did you love him?"

"More than Anora ever did."

"You didn't answer my question."

"You don't need love to marry someone."

"Stop avoiding the question!"

"No! Alright? No, I didn't love him. The man I love died before I ever reached Ostagar."

"And yet you agreed to marry my brother?"

"It was my duty, Alistair. We _all_ have a duty."

"_Duty? _Is it your _duty_ to go around seducing all Theirins?"

"Seducing? I _never_ seduced Cailan and I certainly haven't tried to seduce _you_. Anora was barren and so the role of queen next fell to me. Since-since I left Highever, I had no reason to care who I married any longer. If it was for the good of the nation, yes, I would marry I man I didn't love _and_ bear his children because _that_ is what Ferelden needs to survive!"

"And now since Cailan died, since you can't have _that_ king, you want to have my children? Are you that desperate for the throne that you'll spread you legs for anyone?"

She responds with a firm slap across his cheek. "How dare you? I am only suggesting this because _you_ need an heir and _fast_ and unless you want to go find some random single noblewoman to knock up and explain _who_ you are and _why_ you have to get her pregnant immediately, I think I am the most logical choice!"

"You would do this without loving me?"

"Love isn't required to have a child, Alistair, you should know that," she says quietly.

"This isn't how I wanted things."

"We can't all have what we want."

"I don't even know how to do this, I mean…"

"You're going to be king, Alistair."

"I don't want to be king; I just want to be… Alistair. Look, I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's your turn for watch anyway. Good night."


	4. Duty

**Disclaimer: Bioware owns them, I just play in the sandbox.**

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting! I've been super busy with planning my wedding the last few weeks and it hasn't allowed time for much else.**

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><p>"I'm not going to pretend to like this, because I don't," Alistair says succinctly as they stand before the campfire, a little ways off from their companions.<p>

"Are you still furious with me?" Arleigh asks quietly.

"I...no. I can't say I'm _happy_ with you, but... I understand your reasoning; and I guess you're right. The Theirin line must be preserved, even if I don't take the throne. We can't allow Anora to put her future child on the throne; she's a heartless bitch."

"I agree with that," Arleigh softly laughs. "If the battle at Ostagar had just been a fortnight later, she wouldn't even be on the throne anymore. Might have made this whole situation quite a bit easier. At least we wouldn't be on the brink of a civil war."

Alistair's throat tightens at the mention of Ostagar. He can't help but dwell on the loss of his father-figure, Duncan, not to mention all the other Grey Wardens he considered brothers. "It doesn't matter; what's done is done," he croaks before clearing his throat. "All we can do is move forward."

"Does this mean you have truly considered my proposition?"

There is a long pause before Alistair responds. "Yes, I have," he says quietly. "And I accept your proposal. I'll do what's best for the nation. Duty, and all that. Just don't think to make me king on top of this."

"No promises, Alistair. I too will do what is best for the nation."

Alistair looks away, finding something in the nearby trees utterly fascinating. When he finally sweeps his gaze back to Arleigh, he fixes her with a stare that pierces to her very soul.

"So how do we do this? I mean, do we have to…right now?"

She gives a short laugh in response. "Oh Maker, no. I just finished my cycle so it'll be another three weeks or so before I can conceive again. I'm not saying we _can't _erm, _practice_, but we don't, uh, have to. You know. Awkwardness, and all that."

"I don't want my child to be a bastard."

"You can raise him or her however you like, Alistair. I would like to be involved in the child's life, but I understand if…"

"No, you don't understand. I don't want to do this unless we're married. I know what it's like to grow up the King's bastard and I refuse to force that fate upon my own children. That's part of the reason I've never…"

"Never what?"

"Never mind."

"Alistair…since you were raised in the Chantry, have you never…?"

He blushes the most astounding shade of red before mumbling through a conversation that has something to do with _lampposts_ and _licking_ and the fact that he's never…never never. Of course his counterpart is floored by this realization. And then she's determined that he _does_ need practice because otherwise, well, the night of conception will just be…awkward.

"Alistair, are you sure about this?" she asks after a few moments of silence.

"Yes, Arleigh. I want to make you my wife before…anything happens."

"I don't suppose they have a Chantry in Orzammar? We're weeks away from anything else."

"Dwarves with a Chantry? Somehow I doubt that."

"We could always do a hearth marriage."

"No, it needs to be on record that our child was born within wedlock, for the validity of succession."

"Morrigan says you're a bit dim-witted, but you're certainly smarter than you look," Arleigh says with a smile.

"Well, erm, thank you, I guess."

"When I first met you, I thought you were as clueless as Cailan, but the last few weeks you've been slowly proving me wrong. You're a good man, Alistair. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

He blushes again in response before clearing his throat. "Well, just don't come to expect too much of me. I have to keep up appearances, you know."

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><p>Nearly two weeks later they arrive in the massive city built under the stone mountain. As luck would have it, there was a brother of the Chantry in Orzammar, and he was attempting to get a branch established there. After some finagling with the Shaperate, the Wardens secured the right for there to be a Chantry set up in the underground city. The brother was practically giddy at the opportunity to perform his first marriage under the eyes of the Maker.<p>

At Leliana's insistence, Arleigh went shopping with the girls for a wedding dress (although she insisted it be kept simple so that she could wear it again for practical reasons) and Sten made sure Alistair polished his armor thoroughly. Bodahn located a metalsmith to fashion two wedding bands complimentary in style.

A few days after arriving in the empire of the dwarves, and a mere two weeks after the Warden's initial conversation regarding this arrangement, the wedding is due. Alistair and Arleigh can barely speak to each other through their nerves, but Arleigh's pursuance of duty and Alistair's tendency to do as he is told gets them to the altar and before the stout dwarven Chantry brother.

"Maker's breath but you're tall!" is the first expression out of his mouth.

"Well, at least we won't ever forget this day," Alistair says under his breath, causing a small giggle to loose from his fellow Warden.

They hold hands as is customary, Alistair having forgone his gauntlets. He feels just how much his soon-to-be-wife is shaking despite her calm outer appearance and gives her hands a gentle squeeze in reassurance. She weakly smiles at him before taking a deep breath to recite her vows. Alistair says his and they exchange the rings under the blessing of the Maker.

Their companions give polite applause (except for Leliana, who wholeheartedly cheers them on) as they exit the small makeshift chapel and head for the room they booked in the tavern.

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><p>Alistair faces away from his bride as he slowly removes his armor with shaking hands. <em>She's done this before. <em>_What if I'm terrible? What if she laughs at me? What if I just don't...compare to the other men?_ When he's down to his thin linen trousers and loose shirt, he turns back around, squeaking in surprise when he finds Arleigh watching him intently.

"Have you been watching me the whole time?"

"You're my husband now, I have the right to do so."

"Still it's a bit...weird...don't you think?"

"You can watch me undress whenever you like, Alistair."

"I..." Unbidden, thoughts of Arleigh slowly peeling off layers of clothing flash through his mind, causing his face to flush. He shakes his head to clear his mind. "That's not the point. Look, you're not even undressed yet."

"I was waiting for you to turn around. Help me with the lacing on the corset?"

Again, more images of Arleigh flash through Alistair's mind, this time revealing her soft shoulders and the tightly toned muscle along her upper back. He clears his throat again before squeaking, "Yes, I suppose I can do that. You are my wife, after all. It's proper. Wife. Wifewifewife."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm just trying to get used to this. Wife."

"Husband," she responds, "please undo the lacing so we can get on with things."

His fingers clumsily pick at the back of the corset, but he eventually loosens it enough that Arleigh can release herself from it. She turns back towards him as her lungs fill with air.

"Your turn," she says softly, running her hands across the skin just above his waistband, under his shirt. Her feather-light touches tickle and tease the skin there, causing Alistair's breath to hitch. She carefully slides her hands up his body across the smooth planes of his chest. He shudders at the contact, the gentle caresses igniting a small flame inside of him. His eyes drift shut as she slowly pushes his shirt up. He raises his arms and pulls it off all the way, as Arleigh is too short to do it herself.

At the sight of his corded muscle reaching across his abdomen, up across his strong, broad shoulders, and down his massive arms, Arleigh's eyes darken with an emotion that Alistair can only figure is desire.

"You're a very handsome man, husband."

"Well, thank you." He gives a smug grin in response before turning his attention to the dress baring her collarbone and giving a display of her cleavage that only he would see due to his height and proximity to her body. The flame increases within him. He slowly reaches up and traces the line of her collarbone; Arleigh shivers in response.

"Kiss me, Alistair."

Nervousness flares up in his belly and his mouth suddenly goes dry. "Now?"

Her brows wrinkle together as she responds, "Yes, _now_, I would like you to at least kiss me before you see me naked."

Alistair's face flushes once again as he slowly swallows. He carefully leans down towards her waiting lips and just barely grazes them with his own. "There, I kissed you."

She growls in irritation before grabbing his head with both hands and pulling him down to firmly meet her lips. His eyes widen in surprise, but she merely continues. Her lips work against his in a very pleasant manner (he can't help but admit that) before her tongue darts out to trace the edge of his lower lip. She gives a small nip and his lips part in surprise. She takes advantage of the opportunity and slips her tongue past his lips to meet his.

He groans in response, the desire pooling low in his belly. His hands slide up her sides of their own accord before settling on her upper back, pulling her body closer to his. Arleigh gives a gentle moan as Alistair begins to her back. This only serves to stoke the desire building within him.

He slides his hands along her shoulders, slipping her dress off, causing it to pool around her feet. At the sight of her in just her small clothes his eyes darken with lust. He scoops her up in his arms and carries her to the bed. He lays down beside her, them facing each other. He traces a finger across her jawline while saying, "You're beautiful, Arleigh. I'm afraid I'm not the man you deserve."

"Don't say that. I made this choice and I'm willing to accept whatever comes."

She quickly rids him of his pants and pulls him atop her, skin pressing against skin. She kisses him feverishly, it having been too long since she was last with a man. She guides his hands to remove her of her smallclothes as he visibly trembles the whole way.

"Relax, Alistair. You'll do fine."

He nods as he stares down at her pert breasts, begging to be touched. He slides his fingers around the outside and underside, taking care to avoid her nipple. He hesitates and looks up in his wife's eyes.

"Oh for the Maker's sake!" she exclaims as she takes his hand and practically slaps it against her, forcing him to cup her breast entirely. He sharply inhales as he slowly proceeds to explore the graceful mounds. Arleigh shivers as his thumb grazes across her nipple. "Good, that's...good," she sighs.

The manly part of Alistair feels satisfaction at her response and it emboldens him to continue his exploration of her. His hand trails up the outside of her thigh, making small circles as he goes. Arleigh's eyes pop open and she desperately reaches up to him for a kiss, which he reciprocates.

She quickly removes his smalls, unable to take her eyes off his impressive and growing manhood. "Oh my," she sighs.

That manly part of Alistair swells again with satisfaction. So he _does_ compare to other men, indeed; or surpasses them.

His head falls back in pleasure as she reaches down to take him in hand, gently stroking him, feeling his member harden more under her touch. After a few minutes of teasing, Alistair slides a hand up the inside of her thigh, trajectory aimed at the apex, covered by dark curls.

She gasps in surprise as his fingers lightly tease her. She knows his feels her already prolific wetness. When did she become so turned on by a man she barely knows? Oh, that's right, when she saw just how beautiful his body was underneath all the clothing, and when she found that he is even more gentle than she expected from a first-timer. And gentle in a _good_ way. The way that almost speaks of love.

Finally Arleigh is ready to move on with their introduction to each other's bodies. She guides him between her legs and he poises himself at her entrance, just enough to tease her again, even though that was not his intention. At his hesitation she looks up at him questioningly.

"I'm afraid of hurting you," he explains softly.

"This is hardly my first time, Alistair," she laughs lightly. "You don't need to be afraid."

Concern crosses his face as he slightly pulls back from her. "Do you have someone waiting for you?"

"No, I don't," she croaks, tears beginning to well in her eyes at the thought of her lost love.

"If you're sacrificing him for the sake of duty, Arleigh, then I should never have married you."

"He's dead, Alistair!" she exclaims, tears beginning to streak down the sides of her face and into her hair.

"My brother, then," he says resignedly.

"No, not Cailan; never Cailan," she replies softly.

"Then who?" he asks as he climbs off her to rest at her side, turning her to face him. The fire in his belly cools as he understands how distraught she is.

"Ro. Roland Gilmore, a knight under my father's service. We were deeply in love, but my parents did not approve. I kept begging him to run away with me so we could marry, but he insisted on finishing his service to my father first."

"If you were in love with him, then why did you agree to marry Cailan?"

"That was my mother's idea. She thought the idea of a king would wash away any feelings I had for Ro. She was wrong. I fought with her everyday over the idea. But after Howe...I had nothing to live for. There were no feelings any longer impeding my marriage to Cailan. When Ro died, I just didn't care anymore."

"Just like you don't care now."

"No, this is different. At least you and I...we have more of a connection than I ever had with Cailan. You're twice the man Cailan ever was, Alistair, and I admire that. Marrying you might be a duty, but it's not a bad one." She leans in towards him and kisses him again, softly at first but quickly growing feverish.

He tastes the salt of her tears on her lips and carefully returns the kiss, knowing she needs comfort. When she pushes him on his back and straddles his waist, however, he knows he needs to stop this. This isn't how their first should be, not like this. He wants her to want _him_, not be just seeking escape from her memories. He gently lifts her off his body and sets her to the side, carefully gathering her in his arms.

"What? Why?" she asks through the few remaining tears.

"This isn't how I want it to be. You need comfort right now, not sex. I care about you too much to let you sacrifice your emotions like this."

She looks at him wide-eyed. "You...care about me?"

"Yes, of course I do. We've...grown to be friends since Ostagar, and you're the only remaining _family_ I have now. I wish to see you happy, Arleigh, no matter what it takes me to do."


	5. The Deep Roads

**Disclaimer: Bioware owns them, I just play in the sandbox.**

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><p>To say the Deep Roads are horrible would be an understatement. Alistair had warned his fellow Warden before they ventured in, but it did not prepare her for the experience.<p>

Sleep is nigh impossible to achieve when surrounded by darkspawn. Their non-Warden companions have it a little easier, but not by much. The darkspawn haunt Arleigh's dreams, far more than they ever did on the surface. When they rest, she curls herself into her husband's side, looking for some sort of comfort in the warmth of his body and the familiar pulsing of his taint. Alistair pulls her close to him as she shudders through her nightmares, trying to will away the evil before collapsing into a restless sleep himself.

The only relief they seem to get is by way of comedia provided by their new dwarven companion, Oghren. Once he got over the fact that now-reknown Warden is not indeed twice as tall as a dwarf, three times as strong as a bronto, and does not have breasts the size of barrels of ale, he insisted upon coming along in the search for his lost wife.

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><p>"You know what would do you some good?" Oghren asks Alistair.<p>

Alistair's face wrinkles at the approach of the ale-smelling dwarf before responding, "A pair of nose plugs?"

"Go out, find a girl. Doesn't matter who, as long as there's no pants involved."

"What makes you think I haven't?"

"I can smell purity a mile away. It's a talent."

"I'm married, I'll have you know."

Oghren barks a laugh. "Right, and I'm the Queen of Antiva."

"I am! I'm married to her, in fact!" he points rather excitedly at his fellow Warden.

"Well fart me a lullaby; you're serious?"

"Arleigh, tell him we're married."

Arleigh's eyes slide over from the serious conversation she is having with Leliana. "Yes, dwarf, we are indeed married."

"And you're still a _virgin_?" the dwarf exclaims to Alistair. "If I was married to the Warden, well, I'd, heh, I'd have, heh, bent her over a barrel a long time ago."

"Please, dwarf, I do not need that idea haunting me," the woman replies.

"Well, if you're, heh, having any problems eh... _rising_ to the occasion... I can give you some _pointers_."

"Please don't," the tall warrior mutters.

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><p>"I have a bad feeling about this," Alistair mutters as they continue hearing Hespith's eerie chants, recounting the horrid details of Branka's team's journey through the Deep Roads.<p>

"Let's just hurry. This poem is giving me the creeps," his wife replies.

Rounding a final corner of a pathway built into the cave, they catch sight of the Broodmother.

Their fight is the exact opposite of quick. It takes the team a little while to realize the Broodmother's tentacles can reach them from almost any position, and dodging them and her darkspawn lackeys proves challenging.

Arleigh watches in slow-motion as a tentacle creeps up behind Alistair's foot which has slipped off the safe stone he was standing on to fight two grunts. She shouts out a warning, rapidly firing off a shot from her longbow to clip into the tentacle. It falters, giving Alistair enough time to slip his torso away from the incoming squeeze. The Broodmother, ever tenacious, firmly wraps her tentacle around his retreating leg and crushes it like a snake would a small mouse. He knows instantly that his leg is crushed beyond the healing powers of a few potions.

Alistair's scream of pain echoes throughout the small cavern and all gazes rivet to him. Arleigh's following scream motivates Oghren into action, who bolts as fast as his short legs can carry him to take up position next to the fallen Prince.

Arleigh and Leliana fire volley after volley of flaming arrows into the Broodmother, whittling her health down. Oghren stands his ground, fighting off any stray darkspawn. Arleigh takes the opportunity to rush forward, slipping her twin daggers out of their sheathes. The acid the Broodmother spits burns any exposed skin, but it only fuels her rage. The daggers dig into the Broodmother's flesh with a sickening squelch, her body oozing thick black blood down her many teats. A final stab to her head finishes the job.

Arleigh backs away and collapses to the ground next to her husband, who is trying not to writhe around in the agony he feels. Leliana is already at his side, administering a health potion to ease the pain. "I've got an injury kit, but what he really needs is a healer."

"Dwarves aren't exactly known for their mages, Lel. We need to get to the Circle," the young noble replies. "Alistair, I need to set the bone. We can splint it up and a couple of health potions should allow you to walk, but you'll need to stay off the front-line until we get you fully healed."

"Lovely," he grits out through clenched teeth. "And somehow I've got to get through the rest of these Blighted Deep Roads when I can't even fight?"

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><p>Arleigh sits beside the small campfire they've lit in their corner of the Deep Roads for the night, twirling the crown made for them by Caradin in her hands. Alistair sits next to her, his recovering leg propped comfortably up on their packs, reclining against the stone wall in his tunic and breeches.<p>

"Is that why there are no female Grey Wardens? Do they—we—all become Broodmothers at our calling?" she asks quietly.

"What? No, no," Alistairs responds softly, scooting closer to her with a grunt. He sets down the crown and then wraps his arms around her. "Is that what you're worried about? You've been awfully quiet since that fight."

"Seeing you like that...seeing _her_... what if... Alistair, what if our baby comes out as a darkspawn? I didn't think this through—what if this is a horrible idea? Maybe there's a reason Grey Wardens don't have children after the Joining. Maybe it isn't just difficult, maybe it's just... just a bad idea."

"Don't think that way. Darkspawn are corrupted creatures, birthed by Broodmothers, who are force-fed _things_ to make them into such. Our baby," his voice hitches just a little as he says the word, "will come out perfectly healthy. A normal human child. You need have no fear about that, Arleigh."

"I just can't stop seeing myself in her contorted, disfigured face, or stop the visions that I will give birth to a foul creature such as these."

"Shh, don't worry. If such a thing were possible, I'm sure the Grey Wardens would have a record of it, and I've never heard of such thing. I know you're scared, but there's nothing to be scared of." He places a gentle kiss to her temple and she burrows into his side.

"I can't wait to get out of here. I feel like my skin is constantly crawling with how near the darkspawn always are."

"We'll be out soon. There's nothing stopping us from returning to Orzammar now, and we've cleared out the roads leading back so it should be a quick journey."

"Thank the Maker."

* * *

><p>Fleeing Orzammar as quickly as possible following the crowning of King Behlen, they make for the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold. Alistair spends most of his time riding in Bodahn's cart to take the weight off his still-injured leg. At the sight of the lake in the distance, they all give a visible sigh of relief. The journey has been fast-paced, everyone pushing themselves for Alistair's sake.<p>

Morrigan nearly flat-out refuses to travel across the lake to what she calls the "phallic prison," and no more than four can fit in the small boat manned by a Templar anyway. Sten stays behind, which sparks a look close to glee in the witch's eyes, as she has taken an odd-fancy to the large fellow. This leaves the same crew that ventured into the Deep Roads to cross to the Tower.

Trying not to be disheartened by the news that there is trouble in the Tower, the group surges forward through the exterior doors. What they find renews their sense of dismay. Templars, broken and bleeding, lay strewn across the entryhall floor. In one corner there is a pile of mangled armor, and on a table there is a box of small silver pendants unique to each Templar as a form of identification; presumably all from those who have since passed in the recent fighting.

Alistair overhears heated words between his young wife and the Templar Knight-Commander, a grizzled, fearsome man who towers over the petite redhead. And yet she doesn't back down. Alistair almost feels fear himself as she marches over to him, Leliana, and Oghren as they recline against the wall with a look so cross, lesser men cower as she passes.

"Come on, we're going in," she says shortly.

"Wait, what about Alistair's leg?" Leliana questions.

"The only mages are past that door, so that's where we're going. All of us."

"Somehow I doubt it's as simple as that," Alistair grumbles.

Arleigh spares him a sharp glance before sighing. "I told Greigor that we would clear the Tower of abominations. It's that or he kills all of the mages out-of-hand. That is unacceptable on many levels; not the least of which is Alistair's immediate health. Come on, let's go before he changes his mind about letting us in."


	6. Interlude: The Start of Young Love

**Disclaimer: Bioware owns them, I just play in the sandbox.**

A/N: With this chapter, we take a brief journey to the past.**  
><strong>

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><p>It started slowly a few years ago; a furtive glance here, a casual touch there. Roland Gilmore (for he'd not yet gained the 'Ser') came to the castle at Highever as a young lad of fourteen to begin his life as a squire after having served as a page for a Bann closer to his original home. Still all elbows and ears, the knights of Highever dutifully took him under their wings and began his training with a sword and shield.<p>

Arleigh Cousland, having thirteen years at the arrival of the awkward ginger-headed boy, was likewise beginning her training with the knights of Highever. She, however, favored the bow, as did her own mother, who supervised much of her training personally.

At thirteen, Arleigh cared much more about her horse and bow than she did about boys or how to impress them.

At fourteen, Roland (or "Rory" as knights insisted on calling him, much to his chagrin) cared more about sneaking peeks at the rapidly developing daughter of the Teyrn than he did learning about swordplay.

Not that he'd ever act on it. Not when being caught with the Teyrn's daughter could mean not only the end of his hard-earned squireship, but also disgrace for his family.

Being knocked over the head one too many times while sparring with a knight after being distracted by Arleigh's thin frame walking by made Roland wise up and buckle down with his education. That and he learned how to keep his eyes on two places at once.

Arleigh, on the other hand, still viewed all the knights (and equivalently, the squires) as brothers. Typically much older brothers, but brothers nonetheless. And they all treated her as such, with the exception of one slightly stuttering ginger. She laughed it off as cute.

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><p>One day, when she was fifteen and Roland now sixteen, she challenged him to a sparring session. Later she would admit to her chastising brother Fergus that she did not know what possessed her, as her sword skills were severely lacking in comparison to her competency with a bow.<p>

Their swords were locked as they danced around the practice yard. The knights all stood off a respectful distance, making low comments to each other on the likelihood of each youngster's win. Most bets were unfortunately on the tall ginger who has been rapidly making a name for himself amongst the other squires. Arleigh had successfully ducked and dodged him multiple times, even disarmed him once (sending him running for the weapons rack to obtain a new shortsword), but her muscles were trained for standing still and using a bow from afar, and she was quickly tiring.

Which is how she ended up pinned to the ground with Roland's developing muscles weighing heavily down upon her, one knee resting between hers as he grinned crookedly at her. The dust settled slowly around them as Arleigh struggled to catch her breath. She weakly attempted to push the boy off her, feeling his chest and shoulder muscles twitch under her touch before biting her lip and groaning in frustration, dropping her head back to the ground, wishing she could get herself out of this position.

Roland, on the other hand, was having the exact opposite line of thought: wishing he could stay in this position for longer, _much_ longer, and hopefully in a more private setting.

That was, until the screeching of the Teyrna echoed across the practice yard and the young pair saw the knights quickly scatter, wishing to avoid the wrath of their mistress. Arleigh quickly realized what her position looked like, and Roland quickly realized that he'd just been caught ogling the Teyrna's daughter whilst having her body tightly pinned below his.

The boy quickly scrambled off the girl and adjusted his leather armor to hide his slight discomfort below the belt and saluted the Lady.

"Gilmore, the Teyrn will have a word with you _later_," the Teyrna bit out as she grasped Arleigh's elbow in a vise-like grip, pulling her swiftly back into the castle. Roland merely swallowed heavily as he followed their departure with his eyes, too afraid to relax his stance. He was _not_ looking forward to what the Teyrn might have to say to him later. Hopefully they don't find this to be ground to dismiss him from his service.

Remaining frozen in place let him catch the brief glance the object of his affection tossed over her shoulder at him, just before passing in through the main door to the castle. She was a bit far away, and his mind was a bit addled, but he was nearly certain that she just gave him what could only be described as a mischievous smile and a wink. He swallowed heavily again, letting his shoulders slump just a bit.

* * *

><p>"That was behavior completely unbecoming a young lady!" her mother nearly yelled at her.<p>

"We were just sparring, mother!"

"_'Just sparring'_ is not what _any_ young man would have in mind in that situation, and it's time you learned that. Just think of what something like that could do to your reputation if there was anyone besides our own knights in that courtyard! Next year we begin reviewing marriage contracts for you, and no upstanding nobleman will want his son to wed a young woman who is rumored to-to..." she drifted off with a huff.

"We were just sparring! How could anyone think..."

Her mother gave a soft chuckle, her face finally relaxing. "My dear daughter, you have much to learn about men and politics. And please, in the future, if you feel the need to spar, choose either your brother or one of the older, married knights."

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><p>Two more years had passed, finding Arleigh meeting with suitors and Roland growing closer to knighthood. Since the incident in the courtyard, Arleigh began to look at the young man with renewed interest, beginning to view him as a woman views a man, not as a girl views a boy. Roland's thoughts were perhaps not so pure, not that he'd ever share <em>that<em> with the young lady. Roland always conducted himself as a perfect gentleman, as was expected of someone of his background and rank.

Arleigh began finding ways to subtly spend more time with the young man. Whenever she was due for an outing, whether to the woods for a ride or to the town for shopping, she would ask that Roland be assigned to her detail along with a ranking knight. Her father thought nothing of it, as fathers don't tend to notice their own daughters growing into women before their eyes, and readily approved each of her requests.

She would invariably ask Roland to carry her packages for her, allowing her to graze her hand across his bared wrist, sharing a private smile with him at the contact. He would always look forward to these moments and would cherish the feel of her small hand against his. His mind would also run wild as to what else those agile fingers could do... but no, he could not allow himself to have those thoughts in public. Arleigh had yet to notice just what an affect she had on him, but if he kept thinking of her while they were out, she was bound to notice eventually.

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><p>Another year passed, and Arleigh had been able to avoid a marriage contract thus far. Her mother was highly exacting as to what sort of man she would allow to wed her daughter. Her father, who was wrapped around her finger as many fathers are, bowed to Arleigh's reluctance to be wed to a stranger. It probably helped that the King had recently been wed himself, to the pale-skinned blonde from the south. Teyrna Cousland went on a week-long tirade about the unsuitability of Anora as Queen and how her own daughter would have made a much better queen. Despite the fact that she found Cailan utterly unattractive (mainly due to his stupidity), Arleigh had to agree.<p>

In the spring of that year, Roland was granted knighthood under the banner of Highever. While the knighting ceremony itself was rather dull, there was plenty of wine to be served at the banquet following, which Arleigh was greatly looking forward to. That and the chance to perhaps corner Roland on his own for a bit, away from the party. And after her parents had gone to bed. Fergus, she knew, would be tucked away in a private corner himself with his betrothed, Oriana. Honestly, they could barely keep their hands to themselves during a single meal; once they started drinking, she knew they would hide themselves away as quickly as possible.

Soon after seventh bell, the Teyrn and Teyrna excused themselves and made for their chambers, wishing well to newly-knighted ones of the teyrnir. Fergus and Oriana disappeared soon after, leaving Arleigh to her own devices. For the entire banquet, she had to push back her jealousy of the village girls throwing themselves at the handsome and now very muscular Ser Gilmore; but her turn had come, and she had the trump card, being the highest ranked individual currently in the room.

She let her hound, Chester, barrel through the throng of girls tittering at the ginger-headed warrior, clearing an easy path for her. A few gave her a passing scowl, but she ignored them with her head held high and her chest thrust out confidently. It may have also been because she was able to convince her mother to let her wear a particularly low-cut (well, for a young noblewoman, anyway) gown on this occasion, to showcase her "assets" to any available noblemen who might attend. Never mind that she only had one man in mind when she chose her attire.

Roland, being a fair amount taller than Arleigh, had a wonderful view down the top of her gown as she approached him with a suspicious little smile. He quickly cleared his throat and brought his eyes up to meet hers, but it was apparent by the way her lips quirked a little farther than she had caught his roving eyes and didn't seem to mind, either.

"Ser Gilmore, if you would come with me, please, I require your..." she hesitated just a bit for emphasis, "_services_."

The unbecoming scowls directed at her by the nearby girls turned into full on death glares at her words and Roland's reactionary blush creeping across his cheeks and subsequent nervousness. "As-as you wish, my lady," he squeaked out in the manliest tone he can muster (which really wasn't very manly at this point, given his state of surprise). He gave a polite bow and followed her out of the group of wildly disappointed village girls towards a curtained off room.

He soon realized that she led him to her private library. The walls were lined with her most beloved books (a great deal of which were about the art of war) and artwork that she had collected in the past two years since being gifted the room by her father. A fire was already burning in the fireplace and two glasses with a bottle of wine adorned a small table set next to a small settee. Suddenly the room felt too warm and the knight nervously pulled at his collar of his cloth dress uniform, made of the green and white symbolic of Highever and its ruling family.

"Have a seat, Ser Gilmore," Arleigh said smoothly, the wine in her system bolstering her courage.

She picked up the bottle of wine to pour when Gilmore interrupted, "No, my lady, it is my duty to serve you!" He attempted to remove the bottle from her hand, her skin so warm against his.

"Sit down, Ser Gilmore, this is your day to celebrate. Let me at least do this for you," she insisted, pushing the man back gently into the settee.

His chest burned at her touch and he heard his heart pounding in his ears, thinking it was so loud it wouldn't be a wonder if she could hear it too. "It's Roland, my lady," he croaked nervously. "You don't need to call me Ser Gilmore."

"Hmm?" She turned to face him. "Oh, but _Roland_ sounds too formal. What is it the other knights call you?"

"Rory," he mumbled, aggrieved.

"Don't like that either, I take it? Then how about...Ro? I think it's fitting."

A smile escaped his lips at her suggestion. "I would like that, my lady."

"You don't need to call me 'my lady,' either, you know. It's just Arleigh for you."

"That wouldn't be appropriate, my lady."

Arleigh handed him a glass and took a seat on the settee, awfully close to him. "Well, I think it's up to us to determine what is and isn't appropriate when we're alone," she replied lowly, her silky voice caressing his ears as she leaned in closer to him, affording yet another lovely view of her breasts.

Ro quickly looked away, taking a long drink of his wine before replying, "If that is your wish, Arleigh," he finished slowly, testing out the sound of her name in his mouth. Granted, her name had escaped his lips in the past, but never when he'd actually been in her presence.

"Good, now that that's settled," she replied gleefully, setting her wine aside on the small table after taking a long sip. "Tell me what you desire as a gift for achieving knighthood. I always present a small boon to all those who come into the service of Highever."

She watched his throat bob up and down as he swallowed repeatedly, the grip on his glass tightening such that she was surprised that it had not yet broken. Sensing his nervousness, and presuming that it was due to his attraction to her, she decided to push her luck even further. She slipped her small hand up and removed the glass from his hand, setting it aside, before pushing herself even closer to him.

"Tell me, Ro, what can _I_ do for _you_?" she asked, suggestively, licking her lower lip slowly, gingerly sliding one hand across his thigh.

"I-I-I-I have to go!" he suddenly exclaimed, bolting off the settee, his eyes darting rapidly around the room looking for a quick escape. And with a few bounding steps towards the door, he was gone.

"Andraste's soiled knickers!" Arleigh huffed aloud. "Oriana _swore_ that would work! Now I've just scared him off. Last time I take romantic suggestions from an _Antivan_." She would have to do better next time. Perhaps one of the elven serving maids would have a better suggestion on how to deal with a shy, presumably virginal, male.


	7. Interlude: The Birth of a Prince

**Disclaimer: Bioware owns them, I just play in the sandbox.**

A/N: Super short chapter, I know, but I'm just setting up things to come and I didn't want to include any scenes from the past in the regular chapters.

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><p>"Maric, you cannot be considering simply abandoning your children like that!" a man in his thirties with dark hair and beard peppered with premature grey prematurely growls at the tall blond.<p>

"What would you have me do, Eamon? Announce it to the nation? Just what would the nobles think? What would _Rowan_ think?" His hazel eyes flash dangerously at his brother-in-law.

"Perhaps you should have thought of that _before_ bedding an _elf!_ Just be glad half-breed children come out human, or else you would have another world of troubles on your hands."

"Eamon," King Maric warns in a rough tone, "you know as well as I that knowledge of the boy's existence could threaten Cailan's eventual rule. Illegitimate or no, I refuse to put my sons in direct contest to each other."

"Oh, so now this is for your son's benefit? Fine change from trying to hide your own lack of discretion."

"I'll remind you that _I _am King."

"And I'll remind you that you just wronged my sister, your _Queen!_"

Maric sighs exasperatedly as he turns away from the dark haired man. "Please, Eamon, for the sake of your sister's reputation and the good of the nation, _please_ look after these children."

"I'm about to be _married!_ Just how will that look to my new wife?"

"Eamon, I'm begging you. It's this or... give the children to the Chantry. You know what sort of life they get. I don't want my boy to be a Templar. That's no life for a Theirin."

"Neither is being closeted in the shadows, Maric."

"Please, Eamon."

After a long pause Eamon sighs resignedly. "Fine, Maric. One of the serving girls here in the castle just passed trying to birth a young babe, a boy. The babe did not make it either. We can say...we can say your son is hers, father unknown. Be warned, Maric, I _will_ tell _him_ who his father is, make no mistake."

"I-I wouldn't expect any less of you. What of the girl?"

"We'll-we'll figure something out. Hide her for a couple months and then say she was found by her parents on the road, say they were killed by bandits. With one babe in the castle, no-one will notice the disappearance of extra diaper cloths or the extra wash. There hasn't been a child here since...well, it's been a long time, anyway."

"Do me one more favor, Eamon."

"Yes, my King?"

"Name the boy Alistair."


	8. The Circle Tower

**Disclaimer: Bioware owns them, I just play in the sandbox.**

**A/N: Sorry for the super-long delay! I swear, I have not forgotten about this story. Bear with me...**

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><p>Even before the great doors have shut, the overwhelming stench of <em>death<em> floods their nostrils. Arleigh shudders at the sight of dead Templars strewn in pieces about the first floor of the Tower. After passing several large, empty rooms that appear to be dormitories, they find a small group of surviving mages, children amongst them.

"You!" the eldest exclaims wearily, holding her staff defensively towards Arleigh. "And you, young man!"

"Wynne!" the two Wardens reply excitedly. "You escaped, Ostagar!" Arleigh continues. "I didn't think any but Loghain's men made it."

Wynne slowly lowers her staff to her side. "They kept us mages at the rear, many of us made it back alive. Well, before the Tower went under siege, anyway. What are you doing here?"

"We came to uphold the mages to the treaty with the Wardens."

"Ah, yes, I should have expected such. As you can see, we are in no state to aid you, treaty or no."

"That's why we're in here, Wynne, we're trying to save the Tower. Greigor sent for the Right of Annulment," Alistair replies solemnly. "But if we can find Irving..."

"It is as I feared, then. Unfortunately, I do not know where he is. Our only hope is to venture further into the Tower and pray he still lives."

"'We'? Beg your pardon, Wynne, but you look to be in no state to go any further than this room," Arleigh says.

"Young lady, I assure you I am more than capable of handling myself."

"Wynne," Alistair cuts in quietly, "have you by any chance seen a young mage named Tess?"

"No," her brow creases in confusion, "not since before the blood mages attacked. How do you..."

"She was an acquaintance of mine while I was still in the Chantry. She too came from Redcliffe." Alistair glances sidelong at his wife, seeing her suspicious look, though she quickly ducks her head to hide her expression.

"Then I pray for her safety as well."

"Quickly, we have no time to lose," Arleigh barks out tersely. "There will be no one left to save if we waste all our time _talking_." She saw the look in her husband's eye when he asked about the mage. She doesn't like it. A king cannot love a _mage_, and a man cannot love two women at once. The best she can hope for is that this mage has already fallen and will not pose a distraction from Alistair's duties.

"Arleigh, I think it's best if I stay here to protect the children since Wynne is coming with you."

"I agree. We'll meet again soon."

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><p>Arleigh pushes herself upright with a bit more effort than she's used to, the silk sheets and feather stuffed quilt sliding down to her waist. She huffs out a breath as she swings her legs over the side of the bed to place her feet on the cool stone floor. "Maker's breath but it's chilly."<p>

Chester, stretched out across the foot of the bed, lifts his large head to give a gentle woof of agreement.

"Chester? Where is everyone? Where am I?"

Just then the door sweeps open and a red-haired man slips in the door on his tiptoes. "Oh, love! You're awake, my little sleepyhead."

"Ro?" Arleigh feels her face break into a smile. _Why is Ro here? Isn't he..._

"I thought you were going to sleep the whole day away, although I would let you since you are carrying the little one." He drops to his knees in front of her and places a kiss to her child-laden belly.

Arleigh's hand quickly flies to her abdomen in confusion. "Ro? What's going on? I can't...I can't really remember anything."

"Oh, Arleigh, remember the healer said this might happen on occasion when you first wake while carrying the babe. Come now, let's get you up and ready for the day. Your parents will be arriving this afternoon. The servants have got their rooms ready so you needn't worry about a thing."

"My parents? Is Fergus coming too?"

"Not this trip, I'm afraid. Someone has to stay behind and mind the castle. We'll go visit him as soon as we're able though."

"When do he and my father leave for Ostagar?"

"Ostagar?"

"Yes, to follow the King's edict. I know he wants to head off what he thinks is a Blight as soon as possible."

"A Blight? Are you sure you're feeling well, my dear?" his hand, so warm, brushes her hair away from her neck to feel her skin.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she pushes his hand out of the way, a bit exasperated. "Are you sure _you're_ feeling alright? The King's edict is not to be ignored."

"The King has given no such edict, there is no Blight. There hasn't been a Blight for 400 years. You had a much too vivid dream last night."

"Ro, I really don't think..." Arleigh begins, but her husband silences her with an age old trick. It works quite well too—the feel of his lips pressed to hers causes all thought to leave.

"Now, my dear, I think it's best if you break your fast, lest the babe start to complain," he murmurs gently in her ear, peppering kisses up her neck.

At that moment, Arleigh would have much preferred to stay in bed, dragging her husband in alongside her, but a grumble from her stomach disrupted that notion. A moment later, the heavenly smell of eggs, biscuits, and bacon wound its way to her from the laden tray the servant had just set on the writing desk in the bedroom.

Placing fur-lined slippers on her feet, Roland gently eases his wife out of bed and guides her to the oversized chair near the fire, banked to roaring to erase the chill in the winter air. As Arleigh tucks into a beautifully buttered biscuit, she sees a dark figure lurking just at the edge of her peripheral view. She quickly turns towards the figure, brow furrowing, only to find the space empty. A dark laugh echoes faintly through her mind, but she cannot find the source.

"Hello? Who's there?"

"Love? What's wrong?" Ro ceases his daily work of reviewing letters received, stacking them haphazardly on the table.

Arleigh frowns at one letter about to tip over the edge, before shaking her head to look at her husband. "I, uh, I thought I heard someone. I swear someone was standing the corner just there and laughing," she gestures vaguely to the far side of the room.

Ro looks in the direction of her hand before turning back with a too-placid smile. "I'm sure it's nothing, love."

"You haven't called me that before, not like this," she replies sternly, a frown gracing her brow again, eye narrowing the slightest.

"That doesn't make it any less true. Why can I not call my wife 'my love' when it's the most true thing in Thedas?"

"No, Ro, there's something...different about you, I just can't quite name it." Arleigh struggles to stand from her chair, but he tries to push her back into it. "Let me up!"

"No, you must rest! The healer said!"

"Oh Maker's bollocks! I think I know my own body better than the _healer_. Don't you understand, I don't even remember conceiving a child! I remember..." she trails off as she grabs her head, groaning at the sudden headache. "I don't even remember marrying you, Ro! And you can't tell me this amnesia is normal. I remember that I needed to be given a child, that I was running out of time..." she looks away as tears bud in her eyes. A realization strikes her and she backs away from the man following her, his arms reaching towards her. "No, stay away from me!"

"Arleigh..."

"I said, stay back! I don't know who you are, but you are _not_ my husband! My husband," she gasps loudly, "my husband is the Prince and a good man, and he's out there and he _needs_ me. What have you done with him?" she demands.

"Arleigh, love, _I'm_ your husband."

"No, I don't know who or _what_ you are, but you are but a shallow impersonation of him—Ro died, he died and I lived and you disgrace his memory in this way! Show yourself, demon!"

The dark cackle returns and the figure of Roland disappears in a shimmer, changing to the form of a sloth demon. "We could have been so happy, you and I," it rumbles, the vibrations echoing in Arleigh's chest, "if only you had been content with what I had given you. Isn't this life better than fighting? Here, you need not watch your friends and family die—I have given them all back to you."

"No, demon, I will not live a lie!"

"The others seem content enough; let them be. Let them be and I will release you."

"No, you will not keep my companions either! None of them would want to live a lie any more than I."

"Fine then, find them, if you must; try to convince them that what I have provided is false. I can see everyone's utmost desire and have given it to them; I do not think you will have an easy task. But I do not let my playthings go easily. If my servants defeat you, you will be mine—mine for the rest of your life."

"No!" Arleigh screams loudly, reaching for the bow on her back. Her body has returned to its normal state, and she is once again garbed in her armor. She lets an arrow loose into Sloth's eye, as it cackles with delight and fades away. Five of his servants appear, closing in on her quickly. She releases a tight breath before unsheathing her daggers. She is not the strongest melee fighter, but her attackers are slow-moving and uncoordinated. One-by-one they become puddles of goo on the floor in her fake castle, their remains seeping into the cracks between the cobbles.

"Alistair, hold on, I'm coming for you," she whispers, before setting off down a long hallway in her make-believe home in search of an exit.

* * *

><p>At last, after freeing Wynne and Oghren from their nightmares, she comes across Alistair's dreamworld. She winds her way up a cobblestone path leading to a modest sized cottage banked on one side by a forest and on the others by fields for as far as the eye can see. A cheery vegetable garden grows out front, and a cow and chickens lounge around a pen to the side. To anyone not knowingly trapped in the fade, it appears to be the ideal of a peaceful family home, far away from the evils of the world.<p>

Approaching the door, Alreigh contemplates knocking, but decides to instead let herself in. The door swings open easily, revealing a warm, inviting home. She also finds upon crossing the threshold that her clothes have changes to a simple frock and her weapons have once again disappeared. _That trick, in particular, is getting old_, she sighs in frustration.

The sounds of giggles and laughter escape from a room further into the house, so the young warrior follows the sound. Pushing open a door, she finds Alistair, with his back to her, running circles around the small room with a small auburn-headed child atop his shoulders, both laughing hysterically.

"Faster, da, faster!" the child decrees, followed by giggles. Arleigh's breath catches in her chest. Alistair's desire is to have a simple life with his family, a family with children. A life he could never have.

"Your wish is my command!" Alistair rumbles, looping around to face Arleigh, standing in the doorway with a smile inadvertently quirked on her face. He skitters to a halt, a smile broadening across his face.

"Mama!" the child cries.

Arleigh feels her heart stop as she looks up at the young boy. He looks so much like his father, but yet, those eyes... the boy has her own father's eyes. Tears sting her eyes and she quickly wipes away one that escapes.

"Arleigh, darling, what's wrong?" Alistair approaches quickly with a concerned look on his face.

"Nothing, it's nothing," she whispers. "He just looks so much like..." she frowns as she looks down.

"I'm glad you're home, I was worried you would arrive too late!" Alistair says.

"Too late? Too late for what?"

"Duncan sent a letter ahead, he is to arrive tonight for a visit! He is travelling to Denerim and wanted to stop in. I told him, years ago, that he was welcome to stay with us anytime. It looks like he is finally going to take us up on that offer."

"Alistair, Duncan is..."

"Now I know you didn't know him all that well, but he is the closest thing to a father I've ever known and I'm sure you'll just adore him once you get to know him."

"No, Alistair, this isn't what you think." She feels the sharp eyes of "her" child upon her. Another servant of Sloth, no doubt. "We're trapped in the Fade. I've already released Wynne and Oghren from their nightmares, now it's time to release you."

"Does this look like a nightmare, Arleigh?" he sweeps his hand around the room. "All I've ever wanted was a family and a quiet life; is that too much to ask?" he finishes quietly.

"Alistair, it's not real. It's the trick of a demon."

"Does this not feel real? What about our children, Arleigh? Why must you hurt me so?" he takes the small hand of the child on his shoulders in his.

"Put the boy down, Alistair," she replies firmly, receiving a glare from the demon-child. "He is not our son. We don't have any children yet as you haven't even worked up the courage to lay with me yet!"

"Arleigh..." Alistair warns.

"Do you remember our wedding, Alistair?"

"Of course! It was just out here, by the lake—"

"No, Alistair," she interrupts unwaveringly, "we were married in Orzammar by that odd little dwarf. He exclaimed 'Maker's breath but you're tall!' and I would have lost it right then if I hadn't been so nervous. You were gripping my hand so tightly and you had such a look of fear on your face I was afraid you might flee before the end of the ceremony. Our companions were there—they are our family now, Alistair—not Duncan, not my family, they're all dead, Alistair. And the rest of Ferelden will die if we don't escape this place. We're Grey Wardens, Alistair, we have a duty. You must release your dream and help me!"

"No, da!" the boy shouts as Alistair lowers to his knees to remove him from his shoulders. "No, da! You will regret this!" the boy's voice deepens and takes on an unearthly quality.

"Stay back, demon!" Arleigh warns.

"Escape is futile! You shall serve him the rest of your days!" the boy's deep voice reverberates around the small room.

"Your sword, Alistair, draw your sword!"

Alistair instinctively reaches to his back and unclips his shield before unsheathing his sword. He grinds his teeth together. "Thank you, Arleigh," he spares her a passing glance before advancing on the child with tears in his eyes.

Arleigh tries not to hear her demon-son dying as she closes her eyes to the sight. The sound of other demons approaching forces her to draw her own swords. Looking back at Alistair, she finds him staring at the quickly disintegrating body of a small demon on the floor of the cottage. "It was not our child, Alistair. Our child has not been created yet. I need you to focus, no matter how hard it is."

"Yes," he clears his throat. "Yes, let's do this," he continues, hefting his sword up toward the advancing servants of Sloth.


	9. The Mage

The companions, accompanied by Cullen, Petra, and the children, wearily descend to the first floor of the Tower. The large doors creak open slowly, revealing an ever-stoic Greigor. "Where is Irving?" he demands.

"Irving was killed by Uldred, Knight-Commander," Wynne explains quietly.

"I see. And the rest of the Tower?"

"We have cleansed it of demons. There are a few scattered Templar survivors, all trapped in their personal nightmares, and a few mages in hiding. We have no reason to believe any blood mages survive," Arleigh explains.

"How am I to trust your word?"

"The blood mages had no reason to hide their true natures from us, sir. They believed they could defeat us. We cut down all in our path. The few mages left are truly scared for their lives, I have no reason to think their fear is false."

"Don't trust her word, Knight-Commander! She was in the clutches of Uldred himself; she could very well be compromised," Cullen spits vehemently.

"Need I remind you, Ser Cullen, that I cut Uldred down at the first opportunity? My only regret was not arriving sooner to prevent the unnecessary loss of life," Arleigh states calmly.

"No! The Circle must be cleansed! Purged! You cannot know..." Cullen begins before being silenced by the Knight-Commander.

"Enough, Ser Cullen. We shall need to begin a search for survivors immediately. Please, Warden, you are welcome to use our barracks and my quarters for your own use tonight. I will dispatch as many of my men as are able to comb the Tower."

* * *

><p>Alistair and his bride were given the Knight-Commander's quarters for the evening while the others bunked in the general Templar barracks, mixed among the few remaining men who were not deployed back into the depths of the Tower.<p>

"I would think, after all the time I spent sleeping on that cold floor under the influence of Sloth, that I would feel at least a _bit_ rested," Alistair jests lightly to break the silence pervading the room.

"Mmm," Arleigh hums quietly as she sorts through her pack.

"Arleigh, what did you see? I mean, when you first woke up in the Fade?"

"I was... at home."

"Back in Highever?"

"Not quite, no. I mean, it felt like home, although it's nowhere I've ever lived."

"Was your family there?"

"My family? Uh, no. I was, uh, married. And with child. It was...not what I expected."

There is a long pause before Alistair asks quietly, "Were you happy?"

"Yes," Arleigh whispers.

"Was it Ro?"

"Yes."

"You still love him, don't you?"

"I think I will always love him, Alistair, in a way. That doesn't mean I can't move on."

"Right. Well." He clears his throat as he looks away from his wife.

"What about you, Alistair? Were you happy?"

"Of course I was, Arleigh. Didn't I seem happy?"

"I just wanted to make sure, since...since you were with me. In the Fade, I mean."

Alistair looks up sharply, stepping towards his wife and taking her hands in his. "It's all I ever wanted," he says quietly.

Arleigh's breath catches as tears well up in her eyes. "Sorry," she mutters, pulling her hand away to wipe at her eyes.

"No, don't—don't be sorry," Alistair whispers, reaching up caress her cheek. Her eyes meet his as he slowly leans in for a kiss.

Arleigh lets out a quiet moan from deep in her throat as her hand fists in his loose linen shirt. Alistair quickly intensifies the kiss, pulling her tight against him.

"Tonight, Arleigh; I need you tonight."

She gives a brief glance around the sparsely-adorned, sterile room of the Knight-Commander. "This is hardly perfect, Alistair."

"When will things ever be perfect?" he breathes. "If things were perfect we never would have even met. If things were perfect, I never would have had the chance to love you."

His lips seek out hers again as he guides her towards the bed. Her chemise slips off her shoulders easily enough as her hands slide up his chest, pushing his shirt up with them. He rotates her around and cradles her head as he lays her down onto the quilted surface of the bed.

* * *

><p>The following morning, Knight-Commander Greigor seeks out Wynne just as she's setting down to heal the less gravely injured Templars. "Wynne, I would speak with you, if you have a moment."<p>

"As you like, Knight-Commander," she rises to her feet to follow him to his office.

"Given the fall of Irving, you are now the most senior mage in the Tower. As thus, you are hereby appointed First Enchanter. I have already sent a missive to the Grand Cleric. Congratulations, First Enchanter. Your role will be pivotal in assisting in rebuilding the Tower and ensuring the proper education of the young mages."

"I suspected such would happen, Knight-Commander. I will do my best. Now I had best return to the injured, should you need to find me."

The Knight-Commander gives a stiff nod and turns his back to her as she quietly exits the room.

* * *

><p>Leliana rolls bandages beside Wynne as she continues healing through the morning. At the sound of heavy armored footsteps approaching the door separating the Tower foyer from the areas deeper in, they both look up. A small band of Templars are returning from scouring the Tower for survivors, accompanied by a handful of mages, looking just about as bedraggled as everyone else.<p>

Wynne quickly rises to her feet and rushes over to greet the group. "Any injured?"

"Only minor, Enchanter," the Templar leading the group responds gruffly. "Found most of them cowered in the basement, a couple others in cabinets. They could all stand to bathe, however."

"Yes, well, so can you, ser. I suggest you and your men take a meal and rest. Just looking out for your best interests, dear ser." she adds.

"Wynne! You're alright!" a woman with reddish-blonde hair calls from the back of the group. Her tattered robes hang loosely about her shoulders, but otherwise she looks largely unharmed.

"Tess!" Wynne quickly embraces the young woman. "Thank the Maker! When I'd heard no word, I'd assumed the worst."

"Not me, Wynne, I'm tougher than that," she says with a cheeky, but worn, smile. "I gathered the others in the basement once I realized what was occurring. I had been clearing out spiders for Enchanter Leorah when the attack began. I'm afraid Leorah didn't make it," she finishes somberly.

"Unfortunately that is all too true for most of the Tower. Which makes every one we find that much more precious. Oh, my dear, I'm glad you are safe. Before I forget, there is a young man here, a Grey Warden, that was asking after you."

"A Grey Warden?" Tess' brow furrows in confusion.

"Yes, rather tall, reddish hair, seems about your age. Said he knew you from Redcliffe as children. Alistair, his name is."

Tess' breath catches. "You're quite sure that's his name?"

"Positive, dear. Not the first time I've met the young lad and you know I never forget a name."

"Yes, yes. Well, where is he?"

"He and his wife were staying in the Knight-Commander's quarters last night, they appear to have slept late. I will tell you, these Grey Wardens are a strange lot—large appetites, relentless energy, and yet they sleep deeply enough you'd fear they were dead."

"Hmm," Tess distractedly hums in response. "Perhaps I should find him; they ought to be up by now."

"If you wish; I'd mind his wife though, she doesn't seem to think highly of mages."

"Who does?"

* * *

><p>Tess stumbles across Alistair and Arleigh breaking their fast in the common room.<p>

"Alistair?" Tess questions quietly, timidly approaching his table.

Arleigh looks up sharply, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Alistair looks up with a far gentler face, his mouth full of eggs. He swallows hurriedly once he realises the source of the voice.

"Tess? It is you, isn't it?" he stands quickly, stumbling slightly over the bench in his haste, approaching her quickly but coming to a halt just beyond an arm's reach away.

"Alistair...when they took me away, I thought—I thought I'd never see you again," Tess says quietly.

"Well, here I am," he responds just as quietly, a ghost of a smile on his face. "I'd held out hope, when I started my Templar training, that I would get posted here, but then Duncan came and everything changed. I'm a Grey Warden now, you see."

"I heard. And married, too," she glances around his tall frame briefly to take another peek at his auburn-headed wife. "When did that happen?"

"Just a few weeks ago. Life is forced to move fast during a Blight. At least for Grey Wardens."

"She's a Warden too, then?"

"Yes, I am," Arleigh approaches carefully, stepping up to her husbands' side and taking his hand her own. "And the heir to the teyrnir of Highever."

"I thought Grey Wardens forswore political attachments upon membership," Tess states rather than questions.

Careful to keep her eyes locked on the slender woman who stands a few fingers above her, Arleigh replies slowly, "Unless they do not have the luxury due to being the last of their line."

Alistair's hand briefly tightens around hers and from the corner of her eye Arleigh sees his jaw clench. He clears his throat. "Yes, well, Tess, I hope we can catch up more a bit later before we must set out again."

"When are you leaving?" she drags her eyes away from the noble woman to meet his again.

"This afternoon, I'm afraid. Our work here is done; we've secured our support and it's time to move on to the next treaty."

"I'm coming with you."

"What?" Arleigh almost hisses.

"It's simple. You're going into battle, so you'll need a healer. I am a rather accomplished healer."

"No, Tess, absolutely not; you will remain here where it is safe!" Alistair abruptly drops his wife's hand to gesture widely.

"Don't be ridiculous. You cannot rely upon poultices for all of your healing, they do not work on everything. You know this yourself; you arrived at the Tower injured and Wynne had to heal you before you could continue on," Tess replies calmly. "You'll find I can be useful in other ways, as well."

Neither Alistair nor Arleigh retort, however, as Tess made a valid point—they _do_ need a healer. Arleigh would just prefer it to be someone older, perhaps, and uglier. One her husband does not seem so entranced with.

"You agree, then. Good. I will speak to the Knight-Commander about being given lease to travel with you." Tess turns on her heel and swiftly strides from the room.

Arleigh turns to her husband, crossing her arms across her chest. "What is she to you, Alistair?" she questions sternly.

"She's just someone I've known for a long time," he replies quietly, gazing out the open doorway after the other woman.

Arleigh purses her lips before sighing. "You had best watch yourself around her, _husband,_ else people shall talk. I do not need to remind you how damaging such speech can be."

* * *

><p>"Ser, you cannot be considering..." the voice of Cullen echoes down the hallway as the two Wardens approach the Knight-Commander's office.<p>

"Ser Cullen, that is enough! The Grey Wardens have specifically requested her as a healer and I am not one to deny their request given the gravity of the situation."

"You cannot trust any mage! Ser, you must understand..."

"I shall brook no further argument, Enchanter Tess is leaving with the Wardens this afternoon. However, your concerns are valid; former Templar or no, the Warden's chief priority is not the security of one mage. Therefore, I am assigning you to be her personal guard and escort for the duration of her travels."

"Excuse me?"

"Prepare a satchel, Cullen, I believe they will be departing shortly."


End file.
